in the days. Cat is sitting under the door, oret - asks out on the street. Spring is fucking. I let go, I follow him (the door below on a tight spring, the beast has no strength to open). I let go, I see what he will do next (the cat can't tolerate wet his legs, and before entering such a sluggish lounge - he's on his stomach somewhere). This infection approaches, smells of water... and, drawing its tail, walked over the water. What’s more, he turned around in the middle of the pit, looked at me and whispered: “What do you look at?”" While I was picking up the jaw, he had already overcome the water obstacle in the fold. I say, "Oh, you shit, try to scratch me once again at the next bath!"" So he, sick as he heard about the bathing, scratched with such a speed that you can catch the fucking!!! to